


maybe if you hang around with us long enough, you'll grow up.

by mrsmelchiorgabor



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2066973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsmelchiorgabor/pseuds/mrsmelchiorgabor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: au: Mickey is a Jehovah's or Mormon (up to you) and turns up at Ian's door...</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe if you hang around with us long enough, you'll grow up.

// wow this is super au…ok so Mickey is fairly out of character. He doesn’t swear because Mormons aren’t supposed to. Also I’ve made it a little theatre-y because I love The Book of Mormon. IMPORTANT: I was like halfway through this when I realised that Ian and Mandy wouldn’t know each other in this context…so just like imagine she’s not Mickey’s sister and they’ve never met. Just go with it please haha //

Mickey Milkovich adjusted his tie for the hundredth time that day as he tried, and failed, to ignore the nausea which had been slowly gathering somewhere in the pit of his stomach for the past week. He made sure he had the right name tag – he’d heard horror stories of men going out with a name that did not belong to them pinned on their chests. Really, though, Mickey knew that his tie was perfect, that his shirt was stiffly pressed, that his shoes could pass as mirrors and that he most definitely had the right name tag.

He’d been standing in the hallway for the past half hour, staring unblinkingly at the door and wishing that nine o’clock would not strike today. But as the minute hand drew dangerously close to eight fifty-five, he heard his parents coming through from the kitchen. He turned to them, forcing a smile as his mother approached.

'Oh, Mickey!' she said, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek as she squeezed him tightly.

'Mom,' he protested feebly, but clung onto her all the same. He was scared. Mickey closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in his mother's smell; the lavender oil that she had been dabbing on her skin each morning for as long as he could remember, the lemon fabric softener of her dress and the synthetic flowery scent of her hair, darker than Mickey's. He didn't know when he'd be able to hug his mother again. If he closed his eyes and tried very hard, he could pretend that he was just a small child again, and the prospect of leaving her was a long way off. But now the inevitable had happened. Mickey had grown up. And even though he'd always wanted to do so, now that adulthood was actually here, he wondered why he'd been in such a hurry.

'Come on, boy, we need to start driving to the airport,' his father said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder and jerking Mickey out of his daydreams. His father picked up his suitcase, his mother fretted that he didn't have enough clothes and Mickey took one last look around the place he'd called home for eighteen years. Then he slammed the door behind him and tried not to turn back, remembering the story in the bible. The people in that story made the mistake of turning back to look at their city, even when they knew they oughtn't to, and Heavenly Father had instantly turned them to stone as a punishment. They'd crumbled away.

The next hour or so went by ridiculously fast. He was introduced to his mission companion, a tall boy named Kev. His hair was a little too long, and he had to keep pushing it back,which Mickey thought was sweet – no, smart, he corrected himself. As for the way his shirt clung to the toned body it hid, and the way Kev grinned at him, Mickey found himself feeling something…impossible to describe. It began somewhere in his chest and then spread to his stomach, culminating with Mickey breathing in sharply to collect himself. This feeling had been his constant companion since the age of about thirteen, fourteen or so, appearing randomly when he least expected, annoying and unpredictable. He didn’t know what it was, or what it meant, but something told Mickey that he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Ever. He’d stayed silent and confused, never telling anyone. In recent years he’d begun to have his suspicions about what it all meant. But every time that – that word, entered his mind, Mickey pushed it out sharply, ashamed that he’d even considered such a thing. He would then kneel on the hard floor of his bedroom, enduring the pain he deserved and praying very, very hard to Heavenly Father.

All too soon, he was getting ready to board the plane. As the airport steward announced that it was the final boarding call, Mickey slowly stood up. His father shook his hand. He always did this – he never held him like his mother did. And now that he thought about it, Mickey decided that it was a little odd that a father would shake hands with his own son. You shake hands with strangers, or with co-workers. Not family. Why had he never considered this before?

'It's not forever, honey, you know that, don't you?' his mother sobbed into Mickey's shoulder. He nodded.

'I know, I know. Two years,' he said quietly.

'Yes. You'll go serve Heavenly Father, and then you'll come back here. You'll marry Lana and move into one of the little houses in the next neighbourhood over. You'll come by every other day to check in, and I can cook for you, all your favourites. You'll have a whole gang of kids. Oh, sweetie, just think! You have these two years, now, to really find yourself. Find God. Connect with God. You know, I always thought it was a shame that the girls didn't get to go too,' she rambled, but quickly stopped talking when Mickey's father gave her a stern look at her last comment. His mother's cheeks burned with embarrassment and she ducked her head silently.

The three of them stared at each other for one last moment, Mickey hating his father for ruining the goodbye. ‘I have to go,’ he muttered, kissing his mother’s cheek and nodding at his father. He left them, walking slightly faster than was necessary. He tried to ignore his mother’s whimpers and his father’s impatient sighs. He convinced himself not to look back at them, and instead walked silently with Kev to board the plane.

It was only once he was seated, when he had smiled politely at the air hostesses and looked out of the window at Salt Lake City for the last time, that Mickey finally allowed himself to cry.

-

Ian Gallagher glanced at the clock on his bedside table and groaned. It was just after seven o’clock. Why was it that whenever he didn’t need to get up early, when he didn’t need to be anywhere, when it was one of those rare days where he could actually sleep in, that he found himself waking up far too early? Ian rolled over, trying to get back to sleep but knowing it would be impossible now. He was in that unpleasant state when one is too tired to get up but too awake to sleep.

Sitting up, he groggily reached towards his CD player. Ian generally played music on his computer and thus couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually gone through the ritual of opening a CD case, carefully removing the wafer thin disc, trying to let not even even the smallest scrap of finger flesh come into contact with the shiny rainbow where the music lived, and thus had no idea what was sitting in the player. However, he figured that whatever it was would be good enough to lay in bed and wake up to.

He hit the play button and the machine whirred into life as the disc spun and buffered, making the sounds that instantly reminded him of his childhood. Ian lay back down, not hoping for anything in particular. However, as a doorbell sounded, he straight away knew which CD was playing and grinned.

'Hello! My name is Elder Price, and I would like to share with you the most amazing book,' came Andrew Rannell's unaccompanied, cheery tone. Ian chuckled, unable to remember the last time he'd listened to the cast album of The Book of Mormon. Ian worried briefly that the volume was a little too high, but he shrugged it off. However, as he heard the loud sounds of Beyonce's Love On Top booming in from the next room in a musical protest, he sighed and shut the music off. His door opened and Mandy barged in with a face like thunder. He braced himself – his roommate was so not a morning person. 'Ian. Seriously. It's fucking seven o'clock in the morning,' she growled dangerously.

'Sorry. Couldn't sleep,' he said, wishing once again that he had enough money not to need a roommate. But he knew that if Mandy ever moved out, he'd miss her. A lot.

'I didn't get in until three AM,' she moaned.

'That's not my fault. You know, you can bring people back here. I don't mind, I'll just put my headphones in. Or not,' he told her, winking.

She rolled her eyes, knowing he was joking. ‘I wasn’t fucking, I was working. I had the late shift, and today I need to cover the lunch shift, starting at eleven, because one of the other waitresses is sick. I can’t do that on four hours of sleep,’ Mandy told him. Ian immediately shot her an apologetic look.

'Sorry, Mandy, I had no idea. I'll switch it off. As long as the Beyonce stays off,' he warned.

'I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, anyhow,' she sighed.

'Tell me about it,' he muttered. There was a pause whilst Mandy tied back her messy hair.

'I'm going to make coffee. You want?' she asked him.

'Most definitely,' he agreed.

'Ok. You take care of your morning wood while I make it,' she said, leaving. Ian rolled his eyes but laughed all the same, having grown used long ago to Mandy's comments. As he got out of bed, he saw that he did indeed have a slight situation down below, and went to the bathroom to take care of it. Then he washed up and entered the kitchen, taking the steaming mug she offered him.  
Ian’s thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. He frowned.

'Who the hell comes calling at this time? On a Saturday?' Mandy asked incredulously.

'I'll get it,' Ian said. 'You're not exactly decent,' he said, gesturing to Mandy's body, clad only in panties and a thin vest.

'Whatever. I'm getting a shower. Then more coffee,' she said, heading for the bathroom. Ian crossed the room and opened the door. Standing there was a youngish man, quite small, with dark hair that had been coated in five times the ideal amount of gel. Ian assumed he was in college. He had a smile plastered across his face, but his eyes looked petrified. Ian cast his eyes over the man's outfit – white shirt, black trousers, black tie, name tag. Mormon. He smiled to himself at the irony before speaking.

'Halloween isn't until Tuesday. And you really shouldn't go trick or treating at this time of the morning, no-one is going to give you candy,' Ian told him, amused. The man frowned and shook his head. 'You're not an eager trick or treater from the U of Chicago theatre department dressing up as your favourite musical character?' he asked. The man shook his head again, an expression that lingered somewhere between confusion and offence on his face. They were silent for a moment, Ian waiting for him to say something, but nothing came. 'Can I help you?' he asked finally. The man nodded eagerly.

'Yes – I mean, no,' he said. Now it was Ian's turn to look confused. 'I mean, I can help you!' he said, finally saying what he wanted to. Ian leaned on the doorframe, anticipating that this could take some time, and gestured for him to continue. The man took a deep breath. 'Hello. My name is Elder,' he began, but then suddenly let out a loud sob and began crying. Ian didn't know what to do. 'I'm sorry,' the man said between sobs. 'I've – I've never done this before,' he explained.

Ian sighed. Most Chicagoans would slam the door in his face – or, more likely, they wouldn’t have answered it in the first place. But Ian felt sorry for this young man. ‘Come inside,’ he said eventually, stepping aside and allowing the man to enter, which he did gratefully. ‘You should probably know that it’s not usually a good idea to walk into a stranger’s apartment. But I’m not dangerous,’ he said, smiling. The man nervously returned it. ‘Would you like some coffee?’ he asked. The man shook his head.

'No, thank you. I – I don't drink coffee,' he said quietly.

'Oh, right, of course. Sorry,' Ian apologised. The man shrugged. 'I'm Ian,' he said after a moment.

'Mickey,' the man said. 'I mean, Elder. Elder Mickey,' he corrected himself.

'Can't I call you Mickey?' Ian asked.

'Um, well I guess that would be alright,' Mickey said.

'So you're a real Mormon then,' Ian remarked. He nodded. 'I must admit, my knowledge of Mormonism is pretty much limited to the plot of The Book of Mormon,' he confessed. Mickey reached into his satchel and pulled out a small black book.

'You mean this?' he asked. Ian laughed, shaking his head. Then he went to the bookshelf that was on the other side of the room and reached for a small, thin brown book.

'I mean this,' he said, showing Mickey the libretto.

'A musical? About Mormonism?' he asked in confusion.

'Yeah, it's amazing,' he told him.

'The only musicals I've ever seen are Disney movies, back when I was a kid,' Mickey admitted. Ian's eyes widened.

'You really ought to broaden your theatre experience,' he told Mickey.

'I guess. What's that one about the cats?' he asked. Ian raised his eyebrows.

'Cats?' he answered slowly.

'Yes, that one. Maybe I could see that,' he considered.

'Mickey, Cats closed over a decade ago,' Ian told him.

'Oh. Well, maybe I'll see this show. It is about Mormons, after all,' Mickey said.

'Erm…well, as a theatre lover, and huge fan of the show, then yes, you should see it…but as a relatively sensitive person, I have to warn you that you might be offended,' Ian told him.

'Why? What happens?' he asked.

Ian shifted in his seat, uncertain as to how much he should tell Mickey about the plot of the show. He really shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place. ‘Well…two Mormon boys go on mission to Uganda,’ he said. ‘That’s in Africa,’ he told him.

'Oh, like Lion King,' Mickey said. Ian resisted the urge to laugh.

'Not exactly,' he told him. 'So…yeah. They go to Uganda to try and convert the people there to Mormonism,' he said.

'Do they succeed?' Mickey asked.

'You could say that,' Ian replied.

'It doesn't sound rude at all. It sounds like a nice, inspiring story,' Mickey said. Ian bit his lip.

'It's certainly uplifting. I just – I mean, look, go and see it if you want. The tour is here all week. But don't blame me if you get upset by it. Ok?' he said. Mickey nodded.

'Would you like anything to drink?' Ian offered after a moment.

'Do you have any juice?' he asked. Ian got up and went to fridge, getting out the orange juice and pouring two glasses. He passed one to Mickey. 'Thank you,' he said, taking a sip.

'I'm making breakfast. I can whip you up something, too, if you like,' Ian offered, taking things out of the cupboards and fridge.

'I don't want to impose,' Mickey said quickly.

'Don't be ridiculous, it's no trouble,' Ian said, cracking several eggs into a bowl.

'Ian, have you seen my black skirt? I need it for work,' Mandy called out. Before Ian could answer, she walked into the kitchen, seeing if she had left it in there. She was wearing nothing but a bra and thong. Ian was quite used to her walking around in underwear and didn't react. Not like it did anything for him. Mickey, on the other hand, made a noise that sounded like a frightened mouse. She turned around, eyebrows raised.

'And who's this?' Mandy asked.

'This is Mickey,' Ian said. 'He was at the door,' he told her.

'Pleased to meet you,' Mickey said, holding out his hand, but keeping his head down, looking at the floor.

'What's wrong?' Mandy asked. 'The lack of clothing? Sorry. I didn't know you were here,' she apologised.

'It's – it's not appropriate for a man to see a lady when she's indecent. Unless he's her husband,' he answered, embarrassed.

'Wow,' she said, exchanging a glance with Ian, 'it's no big deal. I don't care, and besides, I'm mostly gay these days,' she told him, continuing, 'it's not that I don't like guys, I just haven't been with one in a while,' she winked at him. Ian rolled his eyes. She had no shame.

Mickey gave a little gasp, and his expression grew very uncomfortable. Ian held his breath; he hadn’t anticipated this. Mickey didn’t seem like the homophobic type. He just seemed so polite, so nice.

Mandy noticed Mickey’s reaction and immediately assumed the worst, as she had been doing since she was sixteen. ‘What’s your problem?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

Mickey mumbled something incoherently and then Mandy looked at him. Her eyes took in the clothing, and she quickly put two and two together. Ian had dragged her to see The Book of Mormon last weekend. She frowned angrily. ‘What the fuck,’ she asked Ian icily.

'I thought he was alright,' he told Mandy.

'Are you fucking kidding me? I know what you people think about people like me. Like us. So just accept that or get the hell out,' she told Mickey darkly.

'It goes against Heavenly Father, but I try not to judge anyone,' Mickey said hurriedly. 'It's just – I've never met a homo-homosexual,' he began, then stood up. 'Excuse me,' he muttered, running to the bathroom.

'Mickey, that's the linen closet,' Ian called out awkwardly.

'I know,' came Mickey's choked voice, followed by sobs. Ian and Mandy looked at each other, unsure what to do.

'Why is he so upset?' Ian whispered.

'Maybe he's gay,' Mandy considered. 'That would explain why he got so upset, and why he's now in the closet, no pun intended,' she whispered back.

'A gay Mormon?' Ian said doubtfully.

'It happens,' she replied.

'But you think everyone is gay. Everyone we meet, you say they're gay,' Ian pointed out.

She rolled her eyes, grinning. ‘Guess I’m an optimist.’

Then they stopped talking because Mickey stepped out. His eyes were red. The three of them stared at each other for a moment in silence. ‘I guess I should leave,’ he said quietly.

'You can stay for breakfast,' Mandy said.

'I thought I'd upset you,' Mickey mumbled, looking at the floor. She shrugged. Ian spoke.

'Look, we just met. You only just arrived in New York, right?' he asked. Mickey nodded. 'Then you need someone here who will look out for you,' he said, offering him a small smile.

'And maybe if you hang around with us long enough, you'll grow up,' Mandy added, only half joking.

-

After they’d eaten, Mandy said she had to read a book for class, and went to her bedroom. Ian and Mickey were left at the table. They talked about school, sports, television – Mickey only watched shows that Ian had lost interest in by the age of fifteen – and Ian listened as Mickey told him about Utah, and Mickey listened as Ian told him about Chicago.

They didn’t realise how much time had passed until Mandy came out of her room and left for work.

'Kev's going to be worried,' Mickey said, grabbing his things.

'Who's Kev?' Ian asked.

'My mission companion,' he told him. Ian nodded.

Mickey went to the door. ‘So…goodbye,’ he said.

'You should come over again. This was nice,' Ian told him.

'I'll see if I can. Or maybe you can come to our apartment,' he offered. Ian nodded. Mickey smiled, turning to leave. He seemed so small and helpless, Ian thought. He'd looked that way from the moment he first saw Mickey, but after the incident with the closet, the man just looked…broken. There was no other way to put it. Before he really knew he was doing it, Ian walked over to Mickey and wrapped his arms around his smaller frame. Mickey made a little noise of surprise, but soon relaxed into the hug.

'It's alright,' Ian whispered. After a moment, they moved apart. Mickey looked up at Ian, his eyes uncertain.

'No-one has ever held me before. Except my mom. I thought people only did hugs in the movies,' Mickey said. Ian wasn't sure how to respond to that. It broke his heart and yet made him want to laugh at the same time. 'Can – can we do it again?' he asked quietly. Ian wordlessly pulled Mickey back towards him. They stayed together longer this time.

After a while, Ian felt something nudging into his thigh ever so slightly. Mickey’s keys or something? Then he realised. ‘Mickey,’ he said very softly. The man in his arms gave a petrified whimper and moved away from him.

'I have to go,' he said quietly, backing away out of the door.

'It's ok, don't worry,' Ian called, but Mickey shook his head, his eyes shining with tears.

'S-sorry,' he stuttered, before running away from the apartment at breakneck speed.

Ian stared after him. He didn’t know what to do.

-

Mickey arrived back at his apartment after running for twenty minutes solid. He let himself in and Kev immediately began asking him where he’d been, was he ok, did he realise how long it had been, did you at least give away all the books etc etc. He ignored Kev’s questions and locked himself in the bathroom. He sat on the floor, leaning on the door as he cried. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t supposed to let things like this happen. He wasn’t a – one of those people. He wasn’t. He couldn’t.

// yeah so this was so out of character…ah well. please like/comment and send me prompts on tumblr, mrsmelchiorgabor.tumblr.com :) //


End file.
